Shockwaves
by heartbreakersworth
Summary: This is where I put my triles drabbles, and 99% of them are angst. Enjoy.
1. Extra Credit

Tristan sighed, tapping his pen on his desk. He glanced back down at his test, realizing that nothing was written on the page. He wanted to throw his desk out of frustration. He tried to study, honest, but the French words were just jumbles to him, and now he couldn't tell pain from peine. He ruffled the paper once more, trying to make sense of the words.

Miles glanced over, seeing that Tristan was having trouble with his test. He looked down at his empty desk, then back up to the teacher before taking Tristan's test and doing it himself.

Tristan rolled his eyes. "You're gonna get caught." He sing-songed, making Miles grin.

"Oh please..." Miles whispered back. Luckily, their handwriting was similar, or at least enough to pass for Tristan's. "You would've failed anyway."

Tristan dramatically put his hand to his chest. "Ah... rude!"

"Tristan... Milligan." He read the name at the top of the paper before a sly grin spread across his face. He didn't want to admit it, but the way his name slid off his tongue already felt natural. Miles slipped his test back. "You'll thank me later."

Tristan rolled his eyes, checking all of his pages. Was Miles fluent or something?! He peeked around to see only one other student with a test. He sighed, dragging himself out of his seat and handing the test to the teacher, moving back as quickly as he came. He felt guilty cheating, but maybe this could boost up his grade... just a little bit...

"Thank you." Tristan whispered, bringing a giant grin to Miles's face.

"Y'know... I could use some extra credit..."

"You, who probably has straight A's in French?" Tristan rose an eyebrow.

"Not exactly." Miles chuckled, recalling all the days he had been skipping. "Come over later."

"Promise you won't creep all over me?" Tristan teased.

Miles smiled again. "I make no such promises." Just as he did, the bell rang, and they were off to different classrooms. Miles stole a glance at Tristan before shuffling away, his cheeks tinted a rosy pink.

* * *

Tristan smiled to himself, unable to think straight. _That was totally a flirty move... _He muttered to himself, burying his face into his textbook.

"Oooooh..." Tristan heard the familiar voice of Zoe behind him. "That's a love-smitten smirk."

"As if..." Tristan scoffed, spinning around to meet her. "It's just a smile." He declared, spinning back around.

"And that's a load of shit." She said, taking the empty seat next to him. "Spill."

"Oh please..." He rolled his eyes. "He just cheated on a test for me... and then... asked me to come over later."

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Oh come ON! He's totally into you."

Tristan bit his lip in an attempt to hide his smirk. "I don't even know his name."

"And these are the things that you'd find out if you went!" Zoe urged.

"He could be a giant creepo for all I know."

"And he also couldn't. Just take a chance."

Tristan thought for a second, processing what she said. "Alright. I'll go."

* * *

Tristan opened his locker, only to see a piece of folded up paper fluttering out of it. "What's this?" He opened it only to see a phone number with the name "Miles Hollingsworth" written under it. He scanned the hall, meeting Miles's gaze. Miles winked, mouthing "Call me." Tristan bit his lip, spinning around and shoving the paper in the front pocket of his bag. Cheesy, but... oddly adorable.

_How do I even get there? _Tristan asked himself.

"Just come with me." Miles smiled, his eyes lighting up. He literally looked like a puppy in love.

"Right now?" Tristan questioned.

"Yep. Right now." Miles took his hand before he could protest, dragging him out the door.

"Wha-hey!" Tristan protested, only making Miles squeeze harder.

* * *

"Okay okay, you did what?!" Tristan gasped between laughs.

"I was playing Spiderman!" Miles pouted childishly. He looked down at the French textbook, still unopened. They had been talking for about 2 hours and neither of them had noticed.

"That's nothing. When I was 7, I refused to take a costume off for maybe 3 months... because I honestly believed that I was Phantom." Tristan smiled to himself, reciting the memory. Miles's heart tugged, seeing him smile like that. _The hell? _A small grin lifted the corners of his mouth. Tristan noted his smile, and blushed before looking down.

"We should probably actually get something done..." He said shyly, fiddling with the cover of his textbook.

"What...?" Miles nearly forgot why he was actually here. "Oh, yeah, that..." He picked up the book, flipping to a random page. He ignored the actual lesson and jumped into something of his own.

"Ce sourire de la vôtre pourrait illuminer quiconque est jour." Miles chuckled as Tristan's face contorted.

"What? What does any of that even mean?" Tristan giggled, sending shivers up Miles's spine.

"Translate it yourself." Miles challenged.

"You're out of your mind. I don't even know how to say what my name is."

"Mon nom est...?" Miles chuckled. "I'm worried for you, if you're going on that Paris trip next month."

"Oh shut it." Tristan rolled his eyes "I mean, as long as you're going."

"I don't think you could survive without me. You wouldn't even be able to ask if you could by a water bottle, let alone wander around without knowing a word anyone's saying?" Miles teased.

"Whatever." Tristan rolled his eyes, refusing to admit that he thought Miles was protecting him, even just a little... "I should really get going." He glanced over at the clock, realizing it was much later than he had anticipated. Either his parents would kill him, or kill each other over not knowing where he was.

"As long as you promise to come back, and maybe, we can actually get something done?" Miles suggested.

"Hey, at least take half the blame." Tristan pouted, making Miles smile. "And don't worry, I'll be back."

Miles felt the butterflies collecting in his stomach as he stood up, walking Tristan to the door. As he watched his silhouette shrink, he felt his head hit the door with a satisfying knock as his smile widened.

* * *

**um: Yes, I know, I know. I strayed the canon route of actually making them friends first and just jumping into instant crush. This is also just a one-shot in a collection of drabbles and I tried to keep it happy and precious and not exactly canon, but I thought it was cute. There's many more to come bbs. Just you wait.**


	2. In Pieces

**"It doesn't mean anything..."**

Tristan muttered, his face heating up almost immediately as Miles's lips left his. Miles put a hand over his mouth, unable to speak for the longest time. He looked up longingly into the blue eyes he never even realized he missed so much, still feeling Tristan's strong pull on his collar. Tristan fiddled with his jacket for a little bit before letting go and sighing.

"Why haven't you gone crawling back to Maya?" Tristan hissed bitterly, staring down at his shoes. Miles stayed silent, pulling on Tristan's nerves once more.

"There it is… That silence. You always stay silent whenever I ask about her, and it pisses me off!" Tristan snapped, making Miles look up at him.

"Did you ever once think that I could want you to!—" Miles cut himself off. He couldn't admit it, he'd just be doing the selfish thing, pulling him back, but having him pissed off and clearly showing confusion in front of him was just as painful. He was afraid of losing him, but at the same time, all he could think about was letting him go. _He's too good to you. Bite your damn tongue, time and time again, doesn't matter if you bleed... At least he won't be caught in the loop. He won't be dragged down with you. _

"Want me to, what, Hollingsworth? Want me to walk away? Do you _want_ to have nobody?" Tristan's voice wavered, but never weakened. His fists were clenched, his face turning a shade of red from fury and confusion. Tristan knew the sad truth was that if he just walked away, he'd truly be alone. Maybe that's what he needed. A nice slap in the face from the bitter realization that he's alone, and that if he doesn't confide in _someone _he will be alone forever.

"That isn't what I want at all…" Miles admitted, taking Tristan's hand. A pang of selfishness shot through him. It was ripped away as soon as he grabbed it, and while relief was what his mind was telling him to feel, his heart was twisting in a million different ways, just wanting to... pull him back, and cry, unloading all of his turmoil onto him.

"Then what _do_ you want? You can't just leave everything hanging and expect me to come crawling back!" Tristan snapped. Miles just stood there, biting his tongue once more. Tristan sighed angrily, stepping closer until their faces were only inches apart. He _wanted_ to trust him, to let him in and tell him _everything... _Yet he found himself silent once more, the cat of shielding Tristan from _him, _who he _really_ is, grabbing at his tongue. Sometimes, he wondered what was worse; having to keep up his facade around the people he wanted so badly to trust or watching them leave when he finally let it down.

"Figure out what you want. Because until then, I'm _done._ I'm done dealing with this shit, with _you!_"

"Funny, coming from the man that just made out with me." Miles spat, spinning around. Tristan grabbed him by his hood, bringing his mouth to his neck. Miles shivered from the sudden movement.

"I fucking told you. It meant _nothing._" Tristan hissed into his ear before walking away, jerking Miles's hood forward, leaving him a bit off balance.

_It doesn't mean anything to __**you.**_

* * *

**um:**** I'm shit. I'm sorry for this vent chapter, I was so bitter over the Triles breakup that I _had _to write this. Props to you if you can spot the Thunderstruck parallel. **


	3. Intoxicated

Miles usually wasn't one for games at all, yet somehow he found himself starting up a game of Truth Or Dare with the entire 10th grade. He wasn't sure how, or why, but it just happened. Eventually, it seeped into just any other party, with drunken tenners jumping around to any random song to come from the radio. Tristan was still avoiding him, which is why he wasn't in his hotel room, and Miles couldn't decide if he was grateful or disappointed that he wasn't there. Either way, he was checking his phone every 10 seconds, and looking back at the door to see if he'd see those blue eyes staring back any time soon.

"You're acting like a lost puppy." Miles heard a voice behind him. He spun around to meet Zig, holding out a red cup to him. "Lighten up, have a few drinks." He offered, his speech slightly slurred. He was using an unamused Maya as support, basically helping him stand straight. Miles pressed his lips into a tight line. For a second, he had actually considered it. Drinking his troubles away, but that always resulted in chaos, and he was not in the mood to do something he'd completely regret in the morning. Besides, his father had eyes and ears everywhere at this point. If the press caught him drunk, his dad would kill him.

"I'll pass." Miles rejected with a slight smirk. Zig rolled his eyes.

"C'mon Moneybags, have some fun. I dare you." He pushed, shoving the drink into Miles's hands before Maya dragging him away, joking about how much of a lightweight he really is. Miles looked down at the drink in his hands, spinning it around in the cup for about a minute before downing it. He squeezed his eyes shut at the bitter taste. Miles hadn't had a drink for a while, not since the party where he had came crawling back to Maya once again.

He grabbed an unopened bottle of vodka from the floor, taking a couple of swigs, every gulp being smoother than the last. Nothing like a bit of alcohol to help you forget how much shit you actually have going on. He stood up when the buzz finally kicked in, smiling to himself when he stumbled off balance.

* * *

Tristan was sitting alone in his room, practicing his lines for his next play. He was having a bit of trouble with that rumble of noise next door. He finally gave in, tossing his script to the floor. He wanted anything but to have to go to that party, or really, anything but having to see Miles. Tristan sighed, running his fingers through his short auburn hair. He smacked his head against his bedpost. Usually, he was able to deal with noises. After all, his parents argued a lot-more like, started wars with each other-and he was either forced to ignore them or go somewhere quiet, and leaving was just stepping into another battlefield.

He perked up at a sudden knock at his door. For a second, he contemplated answering. He wasn't exactly sure he was in the mood to talk to anyone. He shuffled over to the door, opening it hesitantly, only to have an unexpected brunette stumble onto him. Miles placed a soft kiss on Tristan's neck subconsciously, forcing Tristan to peel him off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Tristan asked, before realizing that Miles was completely intoxicated.

"I needed to see you.." Miles admitted, clinging onto Tristan like his life depended on it. Tristan rolled his eyes.

"You're drunk, Miles. You should really..." He sighed, realizing that if he went back to his hotel room he'd just be circling back to the starting point and getting drunk all over again, then possibly coming back to his room. He threw Miles's arm over his shoulder, setting him down on one side of the mattress. Miles patted the spot next to him, telling Tristan to sit down. Tristan rolled his eyes before closing his door and plopping down next to him, reading his lines once again.

"I missed seeing those eyes so much..." Miles slurred, his words obviously lacking filter from the lack of the right state of mind. Tristan looked down at him with a shocked expression, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. He reached up to take Tristan's hand, but Tristan inched away before he could.

"Stop it." Tristan muttered.

Miles propped his head up on his hand. "Stop what? Wanting you back?"

"Shut up." Tristan put a hand over his mouth. Miles smirked against it before licking it. Tristan wiped it off on Miles's jacket before having Miles pull him in, bringing their faces only centimeters apart. Tristan blushed, looking anywhere but his face. He sighed, pushing against Miles's chest in an attempt to separate them.

"I didn't want to have to do this, but..." He said, finally breaking away from Miles's grip and getting on his feet. "You leave me no choice." He picked up the blanket from the end of the bed, lying it down on the floor. He picked Miles up, which was actually a much easier task than he expected, and pinned him to the blanket, hovering over him for a couple of seconds before jumping off and running over to the end, rolling him up like a burrito.

"What are y-" Miles giggled childishly, ignoring the fact that he was too dizzy to even consider fighting back. Tristan smiled once he was completely restrained. He picked up Miles once again, throwing him over his shoulder then back down on the bed.

"There. So you can't get handsy anymore." Tristan reveled at his work before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"It's hottttttt in here." Miles complained, trying to free his arms. "Or maybe that's just you." He winked. Tristan threw a pillow over his face.

"Shut up and be grateful that I didn't kick you out when you came."

* * *

Tristan rubbed his eyes, sighing, not knowing why the bed suddenly felt really warm. He looked down at himself under his cover-which he distinctly remembered wrapping around Miles-realizing that he wasn't alone. Miles's arms were wrapped around him, one around his waist and the other lying limply along his chest. His head was buried in the crook of Tristan's neck, his hair tickling his cheek.

"Miles..." Tristan muttered, still not fully aware if he was awake or dreaming. Miles groaned, slowly waking up to meet the glare of a very confused Tristan. Miles seemed to forget that his arms were completely wrapped around Tristan.

"Wha-what the hell?" He said, untangling himself from Tristan, painfully. He sighed. "What happened last night...?" He could barely think straight, his head pounding. The last thing Miles remembered was anxiously waiting for Tristan to come over... Had he? Had they somehow ended up in Tristan's bed?

"I should really get back..." Miles muttered, getting up and shuffling out of bed. He unlocked Tristan's door and walked out without saying another word, glancing back at Tristan to only see that he was turned away from him. Miles sighed, opening his own door to see a wreck. His jaw dropped as he walked into his room. What happened last night?

One thing Tristan knew for sure: Avoiding Miles was never a sure option. He snuggled into the covers that still has Miles's scent all over them.

* * *

**um: Send help. I am not okay. Please stop me from writing post-breakup fluff like this because I'm just here like no, Miles should be given hell because he's a dick that needs to open up, but I mean I'm going to be giving him enough hell in BYT so I guess I can make an exception. Bleh.**


	4. Going Up

"Sorry..." Zoe said, agitated. Not at Tristan, of course. She was asked to work overtime for double the pay, and although she despised working over her shift, she could definitely use the money. She gave Tristan her finest tight-lipped smile and continued. Working in an extravagant hotel—that she herself wasn't exactly sure how she scored—had it's perks and it's downsides. "I promise, I'll take your mind off of *him* later."

"It's fine." Tristan tensed up while shrugging his shoulders as casually as he could. Zoe wasn't exactly there for him these days. Juggling Power Cheer, a hotel job and a relationship with Grace might've put her in that place, but he still wanted some best friend time. He plopped down and hung his head on the arm of one of the chairs in the lobby.

"You... can take this luggage cart upstairs for me, and then we can talk?" She offered. Tristan rolled his eyes before springing to his feet and grabbing the side of the cart and dragging it to an elevator. Just as it was about to close, a hand poked in and pushed the doors open slightly, letting the person slip in.

"Oh, hell no." Tristan muttered at the sight of him. He started spamming the door open button, but it was _just _too late. Tristan grumbled to himself a slew of curses under his breath, trying to maintain his composure. His head lightly smacked against the wall behind him.

"What, are you following me around now?" Tristan cocked an eyebrow.

"Relax, my family's here because of a campaign meeting or something or another."

"Yes, relax, while I'm in an enclosed space with the last person I'd want to see." Tristan shot him a bitter smile.

Before Miles could even respond, the elevator stopped moving with a jolt. Tristan gripped onto the pole behind him as the lights flickered before blowing out. They exchanged a look.

"Wonderful." They said in unison.

An uncomfortably long pause. "So, what do we do?" Tristan finally asked, throwing his hands up in the air. Miles scanned his surroundings for a brief minute.

"No clue." He huffed out, swinging his arms at his sides. Another awkward pause.

"Hey—"

"Don't. Just. _Don't._" Tristan said, his voice tainted with pain and the attempt to mask it. Miles nearly winced at his tone.

Miles pursed his lips, clenching his fists together. It was taking all of his self control not to just tell Tristan the truth, and angrily slam him against the elevator wall, and slowly ravish him, inhaling him again, having him in his arms... Miles slammed on the steel doors of the elevator a couple of times, relieving some of his internal tension, but the sexual tension that was buzzing through the air was prompt, and oh so _tempting. _The emergency lights flickered on, indicating that someone figured out that there were actually people in there.

"Miles! What the hell are you doing?" Tristan grabbed Miles's fist before he punched again, looking into his eyes. They showed pain, a heavy weight of pain, and somewhere under that was lust, and a flicker of something else. "It's not going to help."

Miles took in a hissed breath before slowly exhaling, unclenching his fists. There was something so convincing about him. Telling him he's doing something wrong.

"Okay. Okay." Miles took a deep breath, letting his head fall laxly against the wall.

"Why didn't you answer me?"

"I didn't know you were asking anything."

"About Maya. Why do you always stay silent?"

Great. Silence.

"There it is again. How am I ever supposed to talk to you if all you do is stay silent?"

"You're not." Miles answered simply, sinking down to the floor with those words.

"Fuck you." Tristan muttered.

Quiet. All that could be heard was the slight shuffling of Miles shifting over to Tristan.

"If you want my answer," He lunged forward, bringing their faces only inches apart. "It's I don't." His hot breath was grazing Tristan's lips just lightly, and Tristan shouldn't have wanted to, but all he could think of was slamming Miles against the other wall and making out with him until he spilled everything. He should want to wring his neck, hate him, resent him, but... he didn't. And that's what was killing him.

Just as Miles's words left his lips, the lights in the elevator were back on, and they were moving up. Tristan pushed Miles off of him as he stood up, steadying himself on the luggage cart.

_Asshole._

_Attractive._

_Tempting._

_Aggravating._

_Arrogant._

_Asshole._


	5. Don't Let Me Go

My eyes cracked open slowly as I drew in a sharp breath. Lying underneath me was something soft and firm, smelling of warm vanilla and cinnamon. I took in the smell invitingly, smiling at the familiarity. Slowly as I woke up a bit more, I realized I was lying on none other than Tristan's chest.

How I ended up here would always be a mystery, and a pleasant one at that. I smiled slightly at him, feeling his chest rise and fall underneath me. He looked peaceful in his sleep, his plush magenta lips slightly parted, his dark lashes falling perfectly against his creamy skin. There was a blanket draped around us, most likely added by some type of third party. He's too warm for a blanket, especially while cuddling. He usually complains about how hot he is and discards it, and now I fully understand what he's talking about. The combined body heat is just enough, especially when you have to snuggle closer to keep warm.

Having him underneath me was a new, but certainly not uninvited sensation. With my ear pressed against his chest, I could hear the steady beating of his heart which was slowly lulling me back to sleep. Having someone's arms draped around me protectively was new, and deciding that I loved the feeling, the sense of being protected, was not difficult at all. He had always been protective of me, but to have his arms shielding me was completely new, and it felt so right. Being able to breathe him in, the firm, unbreakable frame underneath me. Who I'm still coming to understand, piece by piece, even though his eyes tell so much, who he is, he's so open, out there. Everything I want to be.

Somehow, he sees the best in me. The good past the facade I had worked so hard to keep up. He sees who I really am, and takes it in wholeheartedly. Protects it. Loves it. Understands it. It's all so new, it seems to all have happened all at once, but not at all. He worked to understand. Earned my trust. I gave him a piece of me, and he now has it forever. And in this one moment, I realized how in love I was with that, with knowing that he wouldn't leave, that he wouldn't give up on me. I was falling at full-speed all over again. With him. I was in love with him. I am in love with him. I am in love with Tristan Milligan.

My eyes flicker back up to his peaceful face. I remind myself that I can still run, that I can still leave this, but why would I want to? This is something real, something I'd been dying to feel. He could be gone tomorrow, he could be gone the next day, one day he could leave, but something, maybe not even that deep, maybe the obvious is screaming directly at me, but something was rolling it's eyes at me and telling me he wasn't going anywhere. Even if I tried to push him away, even if I wanted to, he'd always somehow come back to me. Even with reluctance, he cared too deeply to leave. And as much as I wanted to deny that I wanted him to, I wanted him back. Always. I never felt more alive, or right.

I place a soft kiss on his forehead. I'll protect him too, with everything I am, with all that I have. I'll fight for this, for him. His breath hitched for a second, his tired and hazy eyes meeting my own. A small, but genuine smile washed over my face, my eyes crinkling. All I saw was pure love in those blue orbs that I've gotten lost in so many times. He's the sky, and oh how desperate I am to fly. I place a tender kiss on his lips as his hand moves up my back, slipping under my jacket and t-shirt. I shiver at his touch but cup the back of his neck, smiling into the kiss.

"Well, good morning to you too." He says, his voice still low and raspy from sleep. He tries to get up with me still laying on him, but I push him back down.

He laughs a bit. Gah, that laugh. It sounds like sweet music to my ears, always will. I can't help but laugh too, pure happiness and a certain innocence of really realizing that I am in love. With him. Admitting it to myself, I feel like I could shout it from the rooftops.

This is the feeling I never want to forget.


	6. Novocaine

**_you took our love and filled it up, filled it up with novocaine and now i'm just numb._**

"Would you tell me why you can't even look me in the eye anymore?" I'm about to snap. It's really apparent when that goddamn quiver in my voice creeps up.

"Maybe that's because I'm not down at your sad, sad level anymore." He jumps when he hears my voice, but spins around to sway toward me anyway. His voice is slightly playful with a bitter undertone. I stay where I am, staring forward, looking back at his icy glare. His eyes pierce through mine, he can see right through me. I stifle a small chuckle as I step forward.

"Oh, he speaks! Maybe you're not. I'd like to think you're fairly close, though." He raises a brow to that, crossing his arms.

"What makes you say that?" He warns, practically telling me I'm treading on thin ice. Which I am. I know he'll walk away. So I tread carefully.

"You didn't have to stop in the hall when you heard me. Sometimes, I think you just can't help it." I moved closer so his face was only inches from mine. He didn't back away.

"I wanted to prove a point."

My eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes. "And what would that be?" I whispered, hovering over his lips so he could feel my breath tickling them. He shrugged, his composure refusing to waiver.

His voice dropped, now low and husky. "That you're not worth my time."

"Then why are you still here?" Fuck. I swallowed, noticing how close we actually were. My hair flopped in front of my face, almost as if to mask my almost visible flustered expression. He gave a tight-lipped smile.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Just like that, I'm pressed against a set of lockers. It almost hurt, being slammed so hard, but I barely noticed when his lips smashed against mine in an angry, needy kiss. I let our a shaky breath as his hands traveled all over, letting out a moan when I finally let his tongue push past my lips. A moan of longing. I felt his smirk, a smirk of liking the control he had over me. He tasted like he always did, and I didn't know how much I missed it until I had it again. Cherry chapstick and mint. The rush in my veins was back, the smile on my lips returned. He pulled away for a breath, and I took the opportunity to spin him around, holding him against the locker by his hips. Even if I did take a breath, I couldn't force enough air into my lungs. He sucked on my bottom lip as I ran a hand through his hair. My dominance was short-lived, though. He ripped my hands off him, pushing me away. I stumbled until I leaned against the other wall of lockers, panting.

"We can't.. I can't…" He breathed, leaning on the lockers for some support. I slid down against the wall, nodding my head in understanding. "I should… just… stay away from me."

"Or you might not be able to control yourself?" I cocked an eyebrow, even though I knew I was just as, if not, more, flustered as he was.

He shook his head, regaining his composure. "Whatever. Don't you have some blonde hussy to win back anyway?"

"Nah…" I said as he began to walk away. "He's a brunette now." I called after him. He didn't even respond, just turned the corner as fast as he could.


	7. Did You Never Want To Be Alone?

I thought being alone was better.

I thought having the time to myself to clear my head was more comfortable. Listening to either the whir of the car underneath me, or my shuffling feet, or whatever the hell music came on. Just the cracked silence, a soft little sound. Watching the trees sweep past, or the ground beneath me, or the rain falling as I took another drag from my joint, then watching the smoke fill the air in a haze. Yeah, I enjoyed the silence. It was bittersweet, leaving me with my thoughts could either be the best or worst. Whatever the result, I didn't mind it, even if sometimes my mind just couldn't stop droning and dwelling on everything.

And then he came along, and suddenly, loneliness wasn't the appealing option. He tried. He came along with me, worried about me, asked me what was going on, and as much aggravation as I wanted to have, the fact that he cared enough to make an effort was nice enough to ware me down. He'd ask where I'd ride to, I'd say where I'm the most comfortable, and he sure as hell knew that wasn't my home. He cared. Over my walls he climbed, until eventually, I had none left. He'd listen when I'd talk, never brushing me off, even when he had that icy glare in his eyes, the unapproachable one, it proved to be a challenge to break, but I managed. Keeping things from him would hurt, seeing the concern brew in his eyes as he crossed his arms and tilted his head in a way to say 'You and I both know you are knee deep in bullshit,' then it'd soften and change to 'I'm not judging, spill.' and I did. I would. I'd spill my heart out. My guard would fall all the time, and despite how fucking pathetic I felt, I'd always end up vulnerable, melting into him, confiding in him. Knowing he was worried hurt more, it made me feel more pathetic. So I wouldn't let him worry, I couldn't.

My favorite part of that was when I would let him ride with me. We'd talk for hours, or it would be a comfortable silence until one of us found a song that we liked and started completely jamming out. He'd lean his head on my shoulder after a laughing fit caused by me singing every lyric to the stupidest songs that came on the radio in a mocking voice, sometimes nestling into my neck. It was clear that he thought I'd never notice the little details, how he outstretches his palm when he wants me to take my hand, lays it on the center console ever so casually, but never takes the initiative in grabbing it. Sometimes I'd grab his hand while he was staring absentmindedly out the windows, or pretend to not notice until we were at a red light and I acted like I wanted something from there, and see his hand and take it instead. We'd drive for hours like that, and right when I knew we were stopped for good, I'd park the car and smash his lips against mine, pulling him in by the fabric of his shirt. Sometimes it'd be gentle, sometimes it'd be rough. Either way they were fucking wonderful. The sensation, the warmth coursing through my body, the subtle smirk on his lips.

Our heart-to-hearts in that car were only temporary. I hadn't even noticed when I stopped telling him about things, but all I knew is it pushed him away. He became cold, cold as ice, and yet I couldn't ever bring myself to tell him the truth. I noticed the drifting. When the sadness came creeping back. When the silence seeped back in. When all I'd hear is the whirring of the car underneath me. All I'd see is the road blurring ahead. He was still there, but the distance was too, and I couldn't bring myself to close it. I'd stop hearing his laughter, feeling his palm against mine, the sparks rushing under my skin would fade out, and I hate it. I fucking hate it. The loneliness hurts now. I loathe it, and yet, I'm doing fucking _nothing _about it. Fuck, I need him. I need to do something. I slam my head against the steering wheel when the car finally stops. I'm far from him. Far from home. I take out my phone, staring at the notifications that don't exist.

This silence, it's deafening.


	8. Wicked Games

**the product of being trusted with a computer in schoool :))))))))**

**also this was written after i'd listened to wicked games on repeat**

He loves with his head, not his heart.

He plays it like a game, but not a game with pawns. More, a game with strategy, figuring out the opponent's weaknesses and strengths, and playing that aspect like a pawn. Moving the pieces when the timing aligns with the situation, and the perfect opportunity to strike is shown.

However, what is lost is not what is promised by the rules.

But love knows no rules.

In his head, he believes he must've won something or another, saved someone, had been the hero or the martyr or whatever, keeping everything out while he sorts around, switching aspects of his life that were preventing him from caring for anyone else, from shutting people out. most of it he's found a way to fix, or at least cope with. But he knows it was all a bit too late

Confirmation is what he feared, and exactly what he's gotten.

The boy is no longer in his range. He's moved.

He's not angry, he's not sad, he's not guilty, but there's a giant pit in his chest, a sink of his heart. In the back of his mind, he's always known, and he's still got quite a ways to go, but he knows that love shouldn't be like a game, it's not some fucking checkerboard and really he shouldn't see it that way.

But the thought of being sucked in by someone's charm and love terrifies him. it scares him to be with someone else entirely, he's afraid of being left behind. Unloved. Unfortunate for him, what he doesn't know will hurt. He may be unloved now, but he make it that way. himself.

The moment flashes behind his eyes so briefly, he'd almost missed it. He'd almost missed the bittersweet sting of remembering that moment. Right before he'd thrown himself into the hellstorm, how the back door hung just the slightest bit open, and how his heart dropped a million miles. How he raced outside, and his relief when he saw that at least Tris was *physically* alright made his head feel a lot better, but knowing his heart hurt still pained him.

And realizing that he really felt something pained him even more.

And fuck, even back then it scared him.

He remembers exactly how he tasted. Cherry chapstick with mint and just _him. _He remembers how he was so disappointed when the other boy's lips left his. How he dived right back in for more, not even questioning what would happen after. or having any sense of reason, really. All he felt was warmth. Euphoria. Passion. The feeling of his body pressed against Tristan's.

In his hand, he holds the lighter from that night, flipping the top, watching the flame jump up and settle quickly, and once again closing it. he does this multiple times, recalling memories, and thinks about how pathetic this is, and how he should be chasing after some girl who's rejected him about 4 times. Or doing something to get this two-month romance out of his head.

It's then he begins to question if it was really all in his head.

Did he really love the person who was the most convenient to love in that moment? Was it really a game?

Or had his intoxication managed to slip itself under his millions of walls?

He wishes he had a joint, or alcohol, or something to give him a buzz, because all he can think about is Tris and how he tasted and felt and how he loved him and forgot what this felt like, loathing in himself, because he was able to forget with him around, or really, anyone around.

He fucked up. Horribly. Terribly. And he needs to fix it. Because he didn't just lose someone that day, he lost everything.


End file.
